My Journey to Meet Truffaut in 5 Films

In his book The Films of My Life, the French Director Francois Truffaut makes a curious statement. He used to believe, he says, that a successful film had to simultaneously express "an idea of the world and an idea of cinema." But now, he writes, "I demand that a film express either the joy of making cinema or the agony of making cinema. I am not at all interested in anything in between; I am not interested in all those films that do not have a pulse." (Quoted from Roger Ebert's novel Awake in the Dark, from the review of Apocalypse Now).



For as long as I can remember, I have been on a cinematic journey. I didn't always know where it was going to lead, or what I was looking for, but I knew that movies spoke to me, that they somehow lit a fire deep within me, and ever since I first felt the warmth of that fire, I have been striving to discover its source. I do not pretend to think I have found it, or I ever will truly find it, but over the last few years I believe I've come upon a revelation - I might not know why the fire burns, but I have a pretty good idea as to what material provokes the biggest flames.

Therefore, these five movies are all milestones for me, films that opened my eyes and, ultimately, helped me come to understand the question that every movie lover asks themselves: "What movies do I love, and why do I love them?"



This list is not about classic movies I saw in school (Citizen Kane, The Seventh Seal, The 400 Blows, Seven Samurai), movies I saw growing up and fell in love with (Dazed and Confused, Goodfellas, Swingers, LA Confidential), or movies that so many people spoke about that I figured I had to see them to understand what was going on (Casablanca, The Wild Bunch, Double Indemnity). I love every one of those movies, but those are for another list.

This list is about those movies that I approached on my own terms, for my own reasons. Some of these films took multiple viewings, sometimes spanning multiple years, for me to ultimately get a handle on. In that way, these movies are each perfect representations of my journey, because in coming to understand, to appreciate, and to love them individually, I was able to finally answer why I love movies, and what about them I love. I have finally arrived at the same conclusion of Francois Truffaut - these are the films that led the way.


1. Hoop Dreams (1994)



If these other films are about destinations, Hoop Dreams was my departure, where I first stepped on the train to begin my journey. As such, I don't have a whole lot to say about it. I can talk about how this movie first ignited my interest in documentaries, that in college I wrote a 20 page paper deploring the moral and ethical dilemmas presented in such ethnographic docs like Nanook of the North and Hoop Dreams, or about how, a couple years after I graduated, I was able to see past the rhetoric (and my own college-fueled stupidity) and fall in love with this film all over again.



But, here is the simple truth: I can't think of a film I saw before Hoop Dreams that better represents the transition from "I like to watch movies" to "I love movies, and want to learn more about them." I remember seeking out a place to watch Hoop Dreams while it was in the theater (thank you UCR University theaters and your one time a day showing of indie films!). I was able, after a lot of work, to convince one friend to go see it with me. He thought it was alright, but long. I thought it was the best film I had ever seen. Some days I still think that. Hoop Dreams sunk its hooks into me that day, and "the Cinema" opened its door.

2. Boogie Nights (1997)



I saw Boogie Nights in high school. It was a strange experience, and if you know me I'm sure you have heard the story. Basically, I went in expecting something completely different, and because of the people with me I wasn't ever able to relax and accept Boogie Nights for what it was. After that viewing, I had no idea why people kept calling it a great film.

A few years later, in film school, I decided to give it another shot. By this time I had seen Magnolia, and had been unimpressed by that film as well, so I wasn't going back to Boogie Nights with much expectations. I was blown away - at first by the comedy that I was not able to enjoy in the original viewing (due to a friends little sister sitting right next to me), but also with how some scenes just stuck with me (seriously, who doesn't remember the Alfred Molina scene to this day). Further, I kept coming back to the film, and each time I took away more. After a few years and a few more viewings, it became one of my favorite films of all time.



Boogie Nights is on this list for two reasons. First, it started my love for Paul Thomas Anderson, and he continues to reward me for that love (Punch Drunk Love took a while, but I now see it as a little gem). It also either started or cemented my love of all of the following actors: John C. Reilly (who I previously thought of as "the funny guy from Days of Thunder"), Luis Guzman, Don Cheadle, Phillip Seymoure Hoffman, William H. Macy, Ricky Jay, and the amazing Alfred Molina (not that the others aren't amazing, but man what a scene!). In a broader sense, it also introduced me to Robert Altman after hearing all of the comparisons, and for that alone I will always be grateful to Boogie Nights.



However, Boogie Nights is also on this list because, like all of these other films, it helped me learn more about my love for movies in general. For instance, I recognized my love for the focus on characters and their interactions, at (perhaps) the expense of plot, in some of my favorite films at the time, like Dazed and Confused, Pulp Fiction, and The Big Lebowski. Speaking of Pulp Fiction, Boogie Nights also helped me discover what I loved about the "video store" directors such as PTA and Tarantino - it wasn't the stylized violence and homages (per se), but rather their utter love, passion, and encyclopedic knowledge of movies that, consciously or not, become part of the films they themselves made; a passion that comes through the screen and infects the viewers (or at least me), giving these films an excitement that other films seemed to lack.



For a long time I was unable to grasp what this captivating excitement, present in some films but lacking in others, actually was. Boogie Nights didn't totally define it for me (this blog, and post, is full of other examples), but it started me on the path. I loved movies before film school. I learned to love movies after film school. Boogie Nights, though, was how I learned to define, integrate, and perhaps most importantly, explain my raw high school love in connection with the body of knowledge and history to which I was becoming more and more exposed to.


3. Hearts of Darkness: A Filmmaker's Apocalypse (1991)



Is there any film I struggled with longer than Apocalypse Now? I sincerely doubt it. I have gone back and forth, back and forth, so many times. I knew it had problems, big problems. Even today I wonder if the entire final act is pointless. I'm pretty sure both of The Godfathers are about as close to a perfect film as you can come. But, for years, I would ask myself, why was it Apocalypse Now that I remembered so clearly? Why was it the film that was always in the back of my head. Why was it the film that I reach for first every time I have a new television, or new speakers, or just want to be blown away?



A few quick notes about Apocalypse Now and me: it was the first film I remember finding a new video store to get a hold of; it was the first film I ever went to watch by myself in the theaters; it was the first film I can think of that, after watching, I went to a library to look up information about. Long story short, Apocalypse Now and I go way, way back.



So, why did I choose Hearts of Darkness for this list? It isn't because Hearts of Darkness made me immediately understand Apocalypse Now, because I saw Hearts of Darkness in 2001 and I was still struggling with Apocalypse Now until, at least, 2006. No, Hearts of Darkness is on this list for one major reason: it was my introduction to the heaven and hell that is a movie production.



I watched Hearts of Darkness in a film class - but not a film theory class. In this class we had to make a new film every three weeks. On our first day, our professor (a working director and amazing guy) told us one thing: "you are going to have problems, you are going to get into trouble, and you are going to think the world is about to end. So, when you are feeling like nothing is going right and the whole world is against you, remember Hearts of Darkness, and then thank everyone around you, because no matter how bad it will be for you, it won't be as bad as the production of Apocalypse Now."



To this day, when I am feeling beat down, I remember that advice, but there was something more that I found in Hearts of Darkness: that Apocalypse Now only exists because of Coppola's passion (or insanity) for the movie itself. Since then, and with the help of other movies, I have come to understand why I love Apocalypse Now despite its Brando sized flaws, but it was Hearts of Darkness that first made me actually appreciate how much skill, work, love, pain, energy, time, devotion, sorrow, and joy was put into the final product. It was an appreciation that has helped me define my own criteria for what makes a great, or good, or even decent film, and it was an appreciation that finally started shedding light on my own personal tastes as a film lover.



There is often a common bond running through many of the movies I love. They took risks, the filmmakers shot for the stars, and they stood naked, offering their hearts and souls, fears and desires. for public consumption, humiliation and redemption. I will forever love Hearts of Darkness because, more than any other film, it managed to open my eyes enough for me to see the strings tying together my favorite movies.


4. Le Samourai (1967)



By the time I left film school, I had seen samurai films, I had seen French New Wave films, I had even seen Jarmusch's Ghost Dog. I had, therefore, heard of Le Samourai, but other than knowing it was considered a "classic" I didn't know much about it, or have much desire to see it (despite an obvious love of all things "samurai" as anyone who has seen my arm can attest to). So, when I finally watched it a couple years after leaving film school, I was coming to it on my own terms, perhaps somewhat skeptically. Needless to say, I loved every second of it, and it has instilled a passion to see more Melville films, more Alain Delon films, and more films about French samurai (are there any others?).



However, the reason I put it on this list is not for opening those doors, but because this is the film that helped me rekindle my love for movies in general; a love that, quite frankly, was almost extinguished by the time I left college. Specifically, this was the first "classic" film I watched after film school, and I was able to enjoy it all on my own terms - without any knowledge of why I was supposed to love it, or prior knowledge of its significance, importance or influence, I was able to discover all of those things for myself.



As such, Le Samourai reminded me why I love movies again. I didn't just learn what parts of Le Samourai I loved, I remembered the aspects of other French New Wave films I loved (and yes I know Melville isn't really part of the French New Wave), why I loved the "coolness" of some films (Out of Sight and Pulp Fiction immediately spring to mind), even when I didn't like other aspects of the same films (and god knows I am totally split on my feelings towards Tarantino), why I was originally so attracted to samurai culture and samurai films, and why I fell in love with movies in the first place.



Film school introduced me to an entire panacea of movie lore, and I am forever grateful for those four years, but it also buried my own tastes and passions under that panacea. I learned why other people loved certain films, and forgot why I loved them. In the years since, I have found my personal love again, and while that passion has been kindled by many films, it was Le Samourai that relit the fire.


5. Fitzcarraldo (1982)




I saw Aguirre, Wrath of God. I liked Aguirre, Wrath of God. I saw Grizzly Man. I liked Grizzly Man. For months, years (and to this day), I remembered particular scenes from those movies like I saw them yesterday. I had read about Herzog, I knew his legend. But, it was Fitzcarraldo that made me a convert.



I am going to make a bold, sweeping statement with zero authority to back it up: if you have seen this film, there are images you will never forget. The most obvious is watching a steam ship pulled over a mountain, but the first image I think of from Fitzcarraldo is a record player, atop a steam ship, traveling up a river in the midst of a rain forest, blasting Caruso into the jungle. You want to know how much that scene affected me? I went and bought a Caruso album after seeing this film.



As this post, and others like it on my site will attest, I love movies that take risks. They don't have to be perfect, often they are far from perfect, but the movies I seek out, and truly fall in love with, are huge, ambitious, outrageous, made with nothing but passion and pain and misery and joy. With the films above, it took a while for me to realize I loved them despite their (often sizable) flaws. But not with Fitzcarraldo. Once I heard Caruso in the jungle, I knew I was in love, and nothing that came after would affect that. Fitzcarraldo is not a perfect film, but it is truly a great film, and for me it will always be something more.



The closest thing I can equate that viewing of Fitzcarraldo to is receiving a diploma. I didn't have to wrestle with my love for the film - I didn't have to justify it, or seek out other's opinions, I didn't need to read the critical reviews. I knew I loved Fitzcarraldo, I knew why, and I didn't give a damn what anyone else thought. After boarding the train with Hoop Dreams, I had finally arrived at my station, and standing among many others, Francois Truffaut was there, waiting patiently, to help me off the train.